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1

SOME
2PASSAGES
3OF THE
4LIFE AND DEATH
5OF
6JOHN
7EARL OF ROCHESTER

8
9    John Wilmot Earl of Rochester
10was born in April, Anno
11Dom. 1648. his father was
12Henry Earl of Rochester , but best
13known by the Title of the Lord

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14Wilmot , who bore so great a
15part in all the late Wars, that
16mention is often made of him
17in the History: And had the
18chief share in the Honour of
19the preservation of His Majesty
20that now Reigns, after
21Worcester -Fight, and the Conveying
22Him from Place to
23Place, till he happily escaped
24into France : But dying before
25the King's Return, he left his
26Son little other Inheritance,
27but the Honour and Title derived
28to him, with the pretensions
29such eminent Services
30gave him to the King's Favour:
31These were carefully managed
32by the great prudence and discretion
33of his Mother, a Daughter
34of that Noble and ancient
35Family of the St. Johns of Wiltshire ,
36so that his Education was

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37carried on all things sutably
38to his Quality.
39    When he was at School he
40was an extraordinary Proficient
41at his Book: and those shining
42parts, which have since appeared
43with so much lustre; began
44then to shew themselves: He
45aqcuired the Latin to such perfection,
46that to his dying-day
47he retained a great rellish of the
48fineness and Beauty of that
49Tongue: and was exactly versed
50in the incomparable Authors
51that writ about Augustus's time,
52whom he read often with that
53peculiar delight which the
54greatest Wits have ever found
55in those Studies.
56    When he went to the University
57the general Joy which
58over-ran the whole Nation
59upon his Majesties Restauration ,

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60but was not regulated with
61that Sobriety and Temperance,
62that became a serious gratitude
63to God for so great a Blessing,
64produced some of its ill effects
65on him: He began to love these
66disorders too much; His Tutor
67was that Eminent and Pious
68Divine Dr. Blandford , afterwards
69promoted to the Sees of Oxford
70and Worcester : And under his
71Inspection, he was committed
72to the more immediate care of
73Mr. Phineas Berry , a Fellow
74of Wadham -Colledge, a very
75learned and good natured man;
76whom he afterwards ever used
77with much respect, and rewarded
78him as became a great
79man. But the humour of that
80time wrought so much on him,
81that he broke off the Course of
82his Studies; to which no means

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83could ever effectually recall
84him; till when he was in Italy
85his Governor, Dr. Balfour , a
86learned and worthy man, now
87a Celebrated Physitian in Scotland ,
88his Native Country; drew
89him to read such Books, as were
90most likely to bring him back
91to love Learning and Study:
92and he often acknowledged to
93me, in particular three days before
94his Death, how much he
95was obliged to Love and Honour
96this his Governour, to
97whom he thought he owed
98more than to all the World,
99next after his Parents, for his
100great Fidelity and Care of him,
101while he was under his trust.
102But no part of it affected him
103more sensibly, than that he engaged
104him by many tricks (so
105he expressed it) to delight in

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106Books and reading; So that
107ever after he took occasion in
108the Intervals of those woful
109Extravagancies that consumed
110most of his time to read much:
111and though the time was generally
112but indifferently employed,
113for the choice of the Subjects
114of his Studies was not always
115good, yet the habitual
116Love of Knowledge together
117with these fits of study, had
118much awakened his Understanding,
119and prepared him for
120better things, when his mind
121should be so far changed as to
122rellish them.
123    He came from his Travels in
124the 18th Year of his his Age, and
125appeared at Court with as great
126Advantages as most ever had.
127He was a Graceful and well
128shaped Person, tall and well

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129made, if not a little too slender:
130He was exactly well bred, and
131what by a modest behaviour
132natural to him, what by a Civility
133become almost as natural,
134his Conversation was easie and
135obliging. He had a strange Vivacity
136of thought, and vigour of
137expression: His Wit had a subtility
138and sublimity both, that
139were scarce imitable. His Style
140was clear and strong: When
141he used Figures they were very
142lively, and yet far enough out
143of the Common Road: he had
144made himself Master of the
145Ancient and Modern Wit, and
146of the Modern French and
147Italian as well as the English .
148He loved to talk and write of
149Speculative Matters, and did it
150with so fine a thread, that even
151those who hated the Subjects

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152that his Fancy ran upon, yet
153could not but be charmed with
154his way of treating them.
155Boileau among the French , and
156Cowley among the English Wits,
157were those he admired most.
158Sometimes other mens thoughts
159mixed with his Composures,
160but that flowed rather from the
161Impressions they made on him
162when he read them, by which
163they came to return upon him
164as his own thoughts; than that
165he servilely copied from any.
166For few men ever had a bolder
167flight of fancy, more steddily
168governed by Judgment than he
169had. No wonder a young man
170so made, and so improved was
171very acceptable in a Court.
172    Soon after his coming thither
173he laid hold on the first Occasion
174that offered to shew his readiness

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175to hazard his life in the
176Defence and Service of his
177Country. In Winter 1665. he
178went with the Earl of Sandwich
179to Sea, when he was sent to
180lie for the Dutch East-India
181Fleet ; and was in the Revenge ,
182Commanded by Sir Thomas
183Tiddiman , when the Attack
184was made on the Port of Bergen
185in Norway , the Dutch ships having
186got into that Port . It
187was as desperate an Attempt as
188ever was made: during the
189whole Action, the Earl of Rochester
190shewed as brave and as
191resolute a Courage as was possible:
192a Person of Honour told
193me he heard the Lord Clifford ,
194who was in the same Ship, often
195magnifie his Courage at that
196time very highly. Nor did
197the Rigours of the Season, the

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198hardness of the Voyage, and
199the extream danger he had been
200in, deter him from running the
201like on the very next Occasion;
202For the Summer following he
203went to Sea again, without
204communicating his design to
205his nearest Relations. He went
206aboard the Ship Commanded
207by Sir Edward Spragge the day
208before the great Sea-fight of
209that Year: Almost all the Volunteers
210that were in the same
211Ship were killed. Mr. Middleton
212(brother to Sir Hugh Middleton )
213was shot in his Arms. During
214the Action, Sir Edward Spragge ,
215not being satisfied with the behaviour
216of one of the Captains,
217could not easily find a Person
218that would chearfully venture
219through so much danger, to
220carry his Commands to that

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221Captain. This Lord offered
222himself to the Service; and
223went in a little Boat, through
224all the shot, and delivered his
225Message, and returned back to
226Sir Edward : which was much
227commended by all that saw it.
228He thought it necessary to begin
229his life with these Demonstrations
230of his Courage in an
231Element and way of fighting,
232which is acknowledged to be
233the greatest trial of clear and
234undaunted Valour.
235    He had so entirely laid down
236the Intemperance that was
237growing on him before his Travels,
238that at his Return he
239hated nothing more. But falling
240into Company that loved
241these Excesses, he was, though
242not without difficulty, and by
243many steps, brought back to it

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244again. And the natural heat
245of his fancy, being inflamed by
246Wine, made him so extravagantly
247pleasant, that many to be
248more diverted by that humor,
249studied to engage him deeper
250and deeper in Intemperance:
251which at length did so entirely
252subdue him; that, as he told
253me, for five years together he
254was continually Drunk: not all
255the while under the visible effect
256of it, but his blood was so
257inflamed, that he was not in
258all that time cool enough to be
259perfectly Master of himself.
260This led him to say and do
261many wild and unaccountable
262things: By this, he said, he had
263broke the firm constitution
264of his Health, that seemed so
265strong, that nothing was too
266hard for it; and he had suffered

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267so much in his Reputation, that
268he almost dispaired to recover
269it. There were two Principles
270in his natural temper, that being
271heighten'd by that heat carried
272him to great excesses: a violent
273love of Pleasure, and a disposition
274to extravagant Mirth.
275The one involved him in great
276sensuality: the other led him to
277many odd Adventures and
278Frollicks, in which he was oft
279in hazard of his life. The one
280being the same irregular appetite
281in his Mind, that the other
282was in his Body, which made
283him think nothing diverting
284that was not extravagant. And
285though in cold blood he was
286a generous and good natured
287man, yet he would go far in
288his heats, after any thing that
289might turn to a Jest or matter

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290of Diversion: He said to me,
291He never improved his Interest
292at Court, to do a premeditate
293Mischief to other persons. Yet
294he laid out his Wit very freely
295in Libels and Satyrs , in which
296he had a peculiar Talent of mixing
297his Wit with his Malice,
298and fitting both with such apt
299words, that Men were tempted
300to be pleased with them: from
301thence his Composures came to
302be easily known, for few had
303such a way of tempering these
304together as he had; So that
305when any thing extraordinary
306that way came out, as a Child
307is fathered sometimes by its Resemblance,
308so was it laid at his
309Door as its Parent and
310Author.
311    These Exercises in the course
312of his life were not always

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313equally pleasant to him; he
314had often sad Intervals and severe
315Reflections on them: and
316though then he had not these
317awakened in him from any
318deep Principle of Religion, yet
319the horrour that Nature raised
320in him, especially in some Sicknesses,
321made him too easie to
322receive some ill Principles,
323which others endeavoured to
324possess him with; so that he
325was too soon brought to set
326himself to secure, and fortifie
327his Mind against that, by dispossessing
328it all he could of the
329belief or apprehensions of Religion.
330The Licentiousness of
331his temper, with the briskness of
332his Wit, disposed him to love
333the Conversation of those who
334divided their time between
335lewd Actions and irregular

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336Mirth. And so he came to
337bend his Wit, and direct his
338Studies and Endeavours to support
339and strengthen these ill
340Principles in himself and
341others.
342    An accident fell out after this,
343which confirmed him more in
344these Courses: when he went
345to Sea in the Year 1665, there
346happened to be in the same
347Ship with him Mr. Mountague
348and another Gentleman of
349Quality, these two, the former
350especially, seemed perswaded
351that they should never return
352into England . Mr. Mountague
353said, He was sure of it: the
354other was not so positive. The
355Earl of Rochester , and the last
356of these, entred into a formal
357Engagement, not without Ceremonies
358of Religion, that if

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359either of them died, he should
360appear, and give the other notice
361of the future State, if there
362was any. But Mr. Mountague
363would not enter into the Bond.
364When the day came that they
365thought to have taken the
366Dutch -Fleet in the Port of Bergen ,
367Mr. Mountague though
368he had such a strong Presage in
369his Mind of his approaching
370death, yet he generously staid
371all the while in the place of
372greatest danger: The other
373Gentleman signalized his Courage
374in a most undaunted manner,
375till near the end of the
376Action; when he fell on a
377sudden into such a trembling
378that he could scarce stand; and
379Mr. Mountague going to him
380to hold him up, as they were
381in each others Arms, a Cannon

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382Ball killed him outright,
383and carried away Mr. Mountague's
384Belly, so that he died
385within an hour after. The
386Earl of Rochester told me that
387these Presages they had in their
388minds made some impression
389on him, that there were separated
390Beings: and that the Soul,
391either by a natural sagacity, or
392some secret Notice communicated
393to it, had a sort of Divination:
394But that Gentlemans
395never appearing was a great
396snare to him, during the rest
397of his life. Though when he
398told me this, he could not but
399acknowledge, it was as unreasonable
400thing for him, to think,
401that Beings in another State
402were not under such Laws and
403Limits, that they could not
404command their own motions,

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405but as the Supream Power
406should order them: and that
407one who had so corrupted the
408Natural Principles of Truth, as
409he had, had no reason to expect
410that such an extraordinary
411thing should be done for his
412Conviction.
413    He told me of another odd
414Presage that one had of his approaching
415Death in the Lady
416Warre , his Mother in Laws
417house: The Chaplain had
418dream't that such a day he
419should die, but being by all the
420Family put out of the belief of
421it, he had almost forgot it; till
422the Evening before at Supper,
423there being Thirteen at Table;
424according to a fond conceit
425that one of these must soon
426die, One of the young Ladies
427pointed to him, that he was to

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428die. He remembering his Dream
429fell into some disorder and the
430Lady Warre reproving him for
431his Superstition, he said, He was
432confident he was to die before
433Morning, but he being in perfect
434health, it was not much
435minded. It was Saturday -Night,
436and he was to Preach
437next day. He went to his
438Chamber and sate up late, as
439appeared by the burning of his
440Candle, and he had been preparing
441his Notes for his Sermon,
442but was found dead in his
443Bed the next Morning: These
444things he said made him inclined
445to believe, the Soul was
446a substance distinct from matter:
447and this often returned into
448his thoughts. But that which
449perfected his perswasion about
450it, was, that in the Sickness

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451which brought him so near
452death before I first knew him,
453when his Spirits were so low
454and spent, that he could not
455move nor stir, and he did not
456think to live an hour; He said,
457His Reason and Judgment were
458so clear and strong, that from
459thence he was fully perswaded
460that Death was not the spending
461or dissolution of the Soul;
462but only the separation of it
463from matter. He had in that
464Sickness great Remorses for his
465past Life, but he afterwards
466told me, They were rather general
467and dark Horrours, than
468any Convictions of sinning
469against God. He was sorry
470he had lived so as to wast his
471strength so soon, or that he had
472brought such an ill name upon
473himself, and had an Agony in

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474his Mind about it, which he
475knew not well how to express:
476But at such times, though he
477complied with his Friends in
478suffering Divines to be sent for,
479he said, He had no great mind
480to it: and that it was but a piece
481of his breeding, to desire them
482to pray by him, in which he
483joyned little himself.
484    As to the Supream Being, he
485had always some Impression of
486one: and professed often to
487me, That he had never known
488an entire Atheist , who fully believed
489there was no God. Yet
490when he explained his Notion
491of this Being, it amounted to
492no more than a vast power,
493that had none of the Attributes
494of Goodness or Justice, we
495ascribe to the Deity: These
496were his thoughts about Religion,

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497as himself told me. For
498Morality, he freely own'd to
499me, that though he talked of
500it, as a fine thing, yet this was
501only because he thought it a
502decent way of speaking, and
503that as they went always in
504Cloaths, though in their Frollicks
505they would have chosen
506sometimes to have gone naked,
507if they had not feared the people:
508So though some of them
509found it necessary for humane
510life to talk of Morality, yet he
511confessed they cared not for it,
512further than the reputation of
513it was necessary for their credit,
514and affairs: of which he gave
515me many Instances, as their
516professing and swearing Friendship,
517where they hated mortally;
518their Oaths and Imprecations
519in their Addresses to Women,

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520which they intended never
521to make good; the pleasure
522they took in defaming innocent
523Persons, and spreading false
524Reports of some, perhaps in
525Revenge, because they could
526not enage them to comply
527with their ill Designs: The
528delight they had in making people
529quarrel; their unjust usage
530of their Creditors, and putting
531them off by any deceitful Promise
532they could invent, that
533might deliver them from present
534Importunity. So that in
535detestation of these Courses he
536would often break forth into
537such hard Expressions concerning
538himself as would be indecent
539for another to repeat.
540    Such had been his Principles
541and Practices in a Course of
542many years which had almost

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543quite extinguish't the natural
544Propensities in him to Justice
545and Vertue: He would often
546go into the Country, and be
547for some months wholly imployed
548in Study, or the Sallies
549of his Wit: Which he came
550to direct chiefly to Satyre . And
551this he often defended to me;
552by saying there were some people
553that could not be kept in
554Order, or admonished but in
555this way. I replied, That it
556might be granted that a grave
557way of Satyre was sometimes
558no improfitable way of Reproof.
559Yet they who used it
560only out of spite, and mixed
561Lyes with Truth, sparing nothing
562that might adorn their
563Poems , or gratifie their Revenge,
564could not excuse that
565way of Reproach, by which

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566the Innocent often suffer: since
567the most malicious things, if
568wittily expressed, might stick
569to and blemish the best men in
570the World, and the malice of
571a Libel could hardly consist
572with the Charity of an Admonition.
573To this he answered,
574A man could not write with
575life, unless he were heated by
576Revenge: For to make a Satyre
577without Resentments, upon the
578cold Notions of Phylosophy , was
579as if a man would in cold blood,
580cut mens throats who had never
581offended him: And he said,
582The Lyes in these Libels came
583ofen in as Ornaments that
584could not be spared without
585spoiling the beauty of the
586Poem .
587    For his other Studies, they
588were divided between the Comical

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589and witty Writings of
590the Ancients and Moderns, the
591Roman Authors, and Books of
592Physick: which the ill state of
593health he was fallen into, made
594more necessary to himself: and
595which qualifi'd him for an odd
596adventure, which I shall but
597just mention. Being under an
598unlucky Accident, which obliged
599him to keep out of the
600way; He disguised himself, so
601that his nearest Friends could
602not have known him, and set up
603in Tower-street for an Italian
604Mountebank , where he practised
605Physick for some Weeks not
606without success. In his later years,
607he read Books of History
608more. He took pleasure to disguise
609himself as a Porter , or as
610a Beggar ; sometimes to follow

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611some mean Amours, which, for
612the variety of them, he affected;
613At other times, meerly for diversion,
614he would go about in
615odd shapes, in which he acted
616his part so naturally, that even
617those who were in the secret,
618and saw him in these shapes,
619could perceive nothing by
620which he might be
621discovered.

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622    He told me when I saw him,
623That he hoped I would come to
624him upon that general Insinuation
625of the desire he had of my
626Company; and he was loth to
627write more plainly: not knowing
628whether I could easily
629spare so much time. I told
630him, That on the other hand,
631I looked on it as a presumption
632to come so far, when he was in
633such excellent hands; and though
634perhaps the freedom formerly
635between us, might have excused
636it with those to whom it was
637known; yet it might have the
638appearance of so much Vanity,
639to such as were strangers to it;
640So that till I received his Letter,
641I did not think it convenient to
642come to him: And then not
643hearing that there was any
644danger of a sudden change, I

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645delayed going to him till the
646Twentieth of July . At my
647coming to his House an accident
648fell out not worth mentioning,
649but that some have
650made a story of it. His Servant,
651being a French-man , carried
652up my Name wrong, so that he
653mistook it for another, who
654had sent to him, that he would
655undertake his Cure, and he being
656resolved not to meddle with
657him, did not care to see him:
658This mistake lasted some hours,
659with which I was better contented,
660because he was not then
661in such a condition that my
662being about him could have
663been of any use to him: for that
664Night was like to have been his
665last. He had a Convulsion-Fit ,
666and raved; but, Opiates being
667given him, after some hours

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668rest, his raving left him so entirely,
669that it never again returned
670to him.
671    I cannot easily express the
672Transport he was in, when he
673awoke and saw me by him: He
674brake out in the tenderest Expressions
675concerning my kindness
676in coming so far to see such
677a One , using terms of great
678abhorrence concerning himself,
679which I forbear to relate. He
680told me, as his strength served
681him at several snatches, for he
682was then so low, that he could
683not hold up discourse long at
684once, what sense he had of his
685past life; what sad apprehension
686for having so offended his
687Maker, and dishonoured his
688Redeemer: What Horrours he
689had gone through, and how
690much his Mind was turned to

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691call on God, and on his Crucified
692Saviour: So that he hoped
693he should obtain Mercy, for
694he believed he had sincerely
695repented; and had now a calm
696in his Mind after that storm
697that he had been in for some
698Weeks. He had strong Apprehensions
699and Perswasions of
700his admittance to Heaven: of
701which he spake once not without
702some extraordinary Emotion.
703It was indeed the only
704time that he spake with any
705great warmth to me: For his
706Spirits were then low, and so
707far spent, that though those
708about him told me, He had expressed
709formerly great fervor
710in his Devotions; Yet Nature
711was so much sunk, that these
712were in a great measure fallen
713off. But he made me pray

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714often with him; and spoke of
715his Conversion to God as a
716thing now grown up in him to
717a setled and calm serenity. He
718was very anxious to known my
719Opinion of a Death-Bed Repentance.
720I told him, That
721before I gave any Resolution in
722that, it would be convenient
723that I should be acquainted
724more particularly with the Circumstances
725and Progress of his
726Repentance.
727    Upon this he satisfied me in
728many particulars. He said, He
729was now perswaded both of
730the truth of Christianity , and
731of the power of inward Grace,
732of which he gave me this
733strange account. He said,
734Mr. Parsons in order to his
735Conviction, read to him the
73653. Chapter of the Prophesie of

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737Isaiah , and compared that with
738the History of our Saviour's
739Passion, that he might there see
740a Prophesie concerning it, written
741many Ages before it was
742done; which the Jews that
743blasphemed Jesus Christ still
744kept in their hands, as a Book
745divinely inspired. He said to
746me, That as he heard it read, he
747felt an inward force upon him,
748which did so enlighten his Mind,
749and convince him, that he could
750resist it no longer: For the words
751had an authority which did shoot
752like Raies or Beams in his Mind;
753So that he was not only convinced
754by the Reasonings he had about
755it, which satisfied his Understanding,
756but by a power which did so
757effectually constrain him, that he
758did ever after as firmly believe in
759his Saviour, as if he had seen

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760him in the Clouds . He had made
761it to be read so often to him, that
762he had got it by heart: and
763went through a great part of it
764in Discourse with me, with a
765sort of heavenly Pleasure, giving
766me his Reflections on it. Some
767few I remember, Who hath believed
768our Report ? Here , he said,
769was foretold the Opposition the
770Gospel was to meet with from such
771Wretches as he was. He hath no
772Form nor Comliness, and when we
773shall see Him, there is no beauty
774that we should desire him . On
775this he said, The meanness of his
776appearance and Person has made
777vain and foolish people disparage
778Him, because he came not in such
779a Fools-Coat as they delight in .
780What he said on the other parts
781I do not well remember: and
782indeed I was so affected with

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783what he said then to me, that
784the general transport I was under
785during the whole Discourse,
786made me less capable to remember
787these Particulars, as I
788wish I had done.
789    He told me, That he had
790thereupon received the Sacrament
791with great satisfaction
792and that was encreased by the
793pleasure he had in his Ladies
794receiving it with him: who
795had been for some years misled
796into the Communion of the
797Church of Rome , and he himself
798had been not a little Instrumental
799in procuring it, as
800he freely acknowledged. So
801that it was one of the joyfullest
802things that befel him in his
803Sickness, that he had seen that
804Mischief removed, in which
805he had so great a Hand: and

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806during his whole Sickness, he
807expressed so much tenderness
808and true kindness to his Lady,
809that as it easily defaced the remembrance
810of every thing
811wherein he had been in fault
812formerly, so it drew from her
813the most passionate care and
814concern for him that was possible:
815which indeed deserves a
816higher Character than is decent
817to give of a Person yet alive. But
818I shall confine my Discourse to
819the Dead.
820    He told me, He had overcome
821all his Resentments to all
822the World; So that he bore ill
823will to no Person, nor hated
824any upon personal accounts.
825He had given a true state of his
826Debts, and had ordered to pay
827them all, as far as his Estate
828that was not setled, could go:

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829and was confident that if all
830that was owing to him were
831paid to his Executors, his Creditors
832would be all satisfied. He
833said, He found his Mind now
834possessed with another sense of
835things than ever he had formerly:
836He did not repine under
837all his pain, and in one of the
838sharpest Fits he was under while
839I was with him; He said, He
840did willingly submit ; and looking
841up to Heaven, said, God's
842holy Will be done, I bless Him for
843all He does to me . He professed
844he was contented either to die
845or live, as should please God:
846And though it was a foolish
847thing for a man to pretend to
848choose, Whether he would die
849or live, yet he wished rather to
850die. He knew he could never
851be so well, that life should be

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852comfortable to him. He was
853confident he should be happy
854if he died but he feared if he
855lived he might Relapse: And
856then said he to me, In what a
857condition shall I be, if I Relapse
858after all this? But , he said, he
859trusted in the Grace and Goodness
860of God, and was resolved to avoid
861all those Temptations, that Course
862of Life, and Company, that was
863likely to insnare him: and he
864desired to live on no other account,
865but that he might by the
866change of his Manners some way
867take off the high Scandal his former
868Behaviour had given . All
869these things at several times I
870had from him, besides some
871Messages which very well became
872a dying Penitent to some
873of his former Friends, and a
874Charge to publish any thing

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875concerning him, that might be
876a mean to reclaim others. Praying
877God, that as his life had done
878much hurt, so his death might do
879some good.
880    Having understood all these
881things from him, and being
882pressed to give him my Opinion
883plainly about his Eternal State;
884I told him, That though the
885Promises of the Gospel did all
886depend upon a real change of
887Heart and Life, as the indispensable
888condition upon which
889they were made; and that it
890was scarce possible to know certainly
891whether our Hearts are
892changed, unless it appeared in
893our lives; and the Repentance
894of most dying men, being like
895the howlings of condemned
896Prisoners for Pardon, which
897flowed from no sense of their

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898Crimes, but from the horrour
899of approaching Death; there
900was little reason to encourage
901any to hope much from such
902Sorrowing: Yet certainly if the
903Mind of a Sinner, even on a
904Death-Bed, be truly renewed
905and turned to God, so great is
906His Mercy, that He will receive
907him, even in that extremity.
908He said, He was sure his Mind was
909entirely turned and though Horrour
910had given him his first
911awaking, yet that was now grown
912up into a setled Faith and Conversion .
913    There is but one prejudice
914lies against all this, to defeat
915the good Ends of Divine Providence
916by it upon others, as
917well as on himself: and that
918is that it was a part of his
919Disease, and that the lowness of

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920his Spirits made such an alteration
921in him, that he was not
922what he had formerly been:
923and this some have carried so
924far as to say, That he died mad:
925These Reports are raised by
926those who are unwilling that
927the last Thoughts or Words of
928a Person, every way so extraordinary,
929should have any effect
930either on themselves or
931others: And it is to be fear'd,
932that some may have so far
933feared their Consciences, and
934exceeded the common Measures
935of Sin and Infidelity, that
936neither this Testimony, nor one
937coming from the Dead, would
938signifie much towards their
939Conviction. That this Lord
940was either mad or stupid, is a
941thing so notoriously untrue,
942that it is the greatest Impudence

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943for any that were about him,
944to Report it; and a very unreasonable
945Credulity in others
946to believe it. All the while I
947was with him, after he had slept
948out the disorders of the Fit he
949was in the first Night, he was
950not only without Ravings; but
951had a clearness in his Thoughts,
952in his Memory, in his reflections
953on Things and Persons, far
954beyond what I ever saw in a
955Person so low in his strength.
956He was not able to hold out
957long in Discourse, for his Spirits
958failed: but once for half an
959hour, and often for a quarter of
960an hour, after he awakened, he
961had a Vivacity in his Discourse
962that was extraordinary, and in
963all things like himself. He called
964often for his Children, his
965Son the now Earl of Rochester ,

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966and his three Daughters, and
967spake to them with a sense and
968feeling that cannot be expressed
969in Writing. He called me once
970to look on them all, and said,
971See how Good God has been to me,
972in giving me so many Blessings,
973and I have carried my self to Him
974like an ungracious and unthankful
975Dog . He once talked a great
976deal to me of Publick Affairs,
977and of many Persons and things,
978with the same clearness of
979thought and expression, that he
980had ever done before. So that
981by no sign, but his Weakness of
982Body, and giving over Discourse
983so soon, could I perceive
984a difference between what his
985Parts formerly were, and what
986they were then.
987    And that wherein the presence
988of his Mind appeared

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989most, was in the total change
990of an ill habit grown so much
991upon him, that he could hardly
992govern himself, when he was
993any ways heated, three Minutes
994without falling into it; I mean
995Swearing . He had acknowledged
996to me the former Winter,
997that he abhorred it as a base
998and indecent thing, and had
999set himself much to break it
1000off: but he confessed that he
1001was so over-power'd by that ill
1002Custom, that he could not
1003speak with any warmth, without
1004repeated Oaths, which,
1005upon any sort of provocation,
1006came almost naturally from
1007him: But in his last Remorses
1008this did so sensibly affect him,
1009that by a resolute and constant
1010watchfulness, the habit of it
1011was perfectly master'd; So that,

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1012upon the returns of pain which
1013were very severe and frequent
1014upon him, the last day I was
1015with him; or upon such Displeasures
1016as people sick or in
1017pain are apt to take of a sudden
1018at those about them; On all
1019these Occasions he never swore
1020an Oath all the while I was
1021there.
1022    Once he was offended with
1023the delay of one that he
1024thought made not hast enough,
1025with somewhat he called for,
1026and said in a little heat, That
1027damned Fellow : Soon after I
1028told him, I was glad to find his
1029Style so reformed, and that he
1030had so entirely overcome that
1031ill habit of Swearing; Only that
1032word of calling any damned ,
1033which had returned upon him,
1034was not decent. His Answer

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1035was: Oh that Language of Fiends,
1036which was so familiar to me, hangs
1037yet about me: Sure none has deserved
1038more to be damned than I
1039have done . And after he had
1040humbly asked God Pardon for
1041it, he desired me to call the Person
1042to him, that he might ask
1043him forgiveness: but I told him
1044that was needless for he had said
1045it of one that did not hear it,
1046and so could not be offended
1047by it.
1048    In this disposition of Mind
1049did he continue all the while I
1050was with him, four days together;
1051He was then brought so
1052low that all hope of Recovery
1053was gone. Much purulent
1054matter came from him with his
1055Urine, which he passed always
1056with some pain; But one day
1057with unexpressible torment:

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1058Yet he bore it decently, without
1059breaking out into Repinings, or
1060impatient Complaints. He
1061imagined he had a Stone in his
1062Passage, but it being searched,
1063none was found. The whole
1064substance of his Body was
1065drained by the Ulcer, and nothing
1066was left but Skin and
1067Bone: and by lying much on
1068his Back, the parts there began
1069to mortifie. But he had been
1070formerly so low, that he seemed
1071as much past all hopes of life as
1072now; which made him one
1073Morning after a full and sweet
1074Nights rest, procured by Laudanum ,
1075given him without his
1076knowledge, to fancy it was an
1077effort of Nature, and to begin
1078to entertain some hopes of Recovery:
1079For he said, He felt
1080himself perfectly well, and that he

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1081had nothing ailing him, but an
1082extream weakness, which might
1083go off in time: and then he entertained
1084me with the Scheme
1085he had laid down for the rest
1086of his life, how retired, how
1087strict, and how studious he intended
1088to be: But this was soon
1089over, for he quickly felt that it
1090was only the effect of a good
1091sleep, and that he was still in a
1092very desperate state.
1093    I thought to have left him
1094on Friday , but not without
1095some Passion, he desired me to
1096stay that day: there appeared
1097no symptome of present death;
1098and a Worthy Physitian then
1099with him, told me, That though
1100he was so low that an accident
1101might carry him away on a
1102suddain; Yet without that, he
1103thought he might live yet

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1104some Weeks. So on Saturday ,
1105at Four of the Clock in the
1106Morning I left him, being the
110724th of July . But I durst not
1108take leave of him; for he had
1109expressed so great an unwillingness
1110to part with me the day
1111before, that if I had not presently
1112yielded to one days stay,
1113it was like to have given him
1114some trouble, therefore I
1115thought it better to leave him
1116without any Formality. Some
1117hours after he asked for me,
1118and when it was told him, I was
1119gone, he seem'd to be troubled,
1120and said, Has my friend left me,
1121then I shall die shortly . After
1122that he spake but once or
1123twice till he died: He lay
1124much silent: Once they heard
1125him praying very devoutly.

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1126And on Monday about Two of
1127the Clock in the Morning, he
1128died, without any Convulsion , or
1129so much as a groan.